Invasion Party
by S.L.Jenkins
Summary: When an Imperial world fails to pay its tithes, the Dark hands come calling...


**Invasion Party**

By S.L. Jenkins

The Thunderhawk descended like a lightning bolt from the cold grey sky, the sound of its engines the screech of a hunting raptor as it plunged into the fickle embrace of gravity.

Sixteen hundred eyes looked up, eight hundred soldiers of the planetary defence force, chimeras and battle tanks of varying classes all mustered in haste to welcome the drop ship's passengers.

And on it fell. The insistent whine of its engines building. The crowd began to murmur, sharing worried glances, as the drop-ship fell like a flaming arrow toward the heart of the gathered forces.

It was coming in too fast, too low, no man could pull it out of the dive.

With a collective cry born of the ever present maelstrom of fear in the hearts of all men, eight hundred soldiers threw themselves to the ground, as the hawk, with a roaring crescendo of power, pulled up, levelling out ten meters above the heads of the cowering masses. Banking hard it looped around the parade ground before slowly coming to rest at its centre on pillars of superheated gas.

Before the drop ship had settled on its landing gear, five huge figures encased in ceramite and adamantium were striding down the embarkation ramp. Their drab camouflage green armour - festooned with purity seals and marks of honour - was no less imposing for its filigree. Four of the warriors' halted line abreast as the fifth strode on toward the knot of officials collected at the parade ground's centre.

As the space marine walked toward him, Salvitar Bek struggled to quash his expression of fearful awe, replacing it with a well-practised look of resolute calm that had been a companion through his many years as a political figure.

The marine's expressionless helm turned as its ruby lenses surveyed the surrounding forces with a stare of cold appraisal.

Bek involuntarily stepped back as he took in the full stature of the warrior, at over seven feet in height it stood literally head and shoulders above the governor and his guard, to its left vambrace was locked a large combat shield bearing the warding hand icon of the Dark hands chapter, and jutting from over its right paldron was the hilt of a power sword as long as a grown man. All this he took in as he began his formal address. 'Greetings Lord Captain Constantus, and welcome to Geptus prime, we...'

The ceramite giant looked down as if noticing him for the first time, and halted the speech with a raised palm.

'Captain Constantus is engaged elsewhere, I am Bores, champion of the Dark hands 3rd company and its representative in matters of honour.'

Bek shrank at the marine's harsh tone, his words catching in his throat. He couldn't help but feel diminutive in its presence despite the score of elite personal guard at his back. He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the champion's next words.

'I have not come to view parades, or to exchange pleasantries. You stand accused of wilfully neglecting your duty as governor of Geptus Prime, and an imperial subject. In failing to pay planetary tithes, thus denying the emperor his due, and by entering into trade with the alien. You are to give yourself into my custody immediately and submit Geptus to Dark hands chapter command pending Adeptus Administratum confirmed compliance. Failure to do so will be seen as an act of war against the Dark hands and the Imperium.'

Salidor Bek could sense his guard shifting uncomfortably at his back, torn between their loyalty to him and their fear of the Astartes, but Bek found clarity. In losing all hope he found strength, in damnation he found voice.

'I have been governor of this world for sixty winters, and in that time we have stood alone, your grand Imperium is far from our shores. Yet every year you would have us give 30% of our food, leather, oil and our first born sons to an uncaring and unseen empire, and for what, in my sixty years what has your empire done for us?!'

The marine leaned closer, the lenses of his expressionless helm seeming to burn with rage, 'To the Emperor do we owe all things, without his laws there would be anarchy without his armies _you_ would be beset by the alien!'

Bek shook his head, a look of sadness creeping into his eyes.

'And so much does he take in return. And what of you champion? You will never father children, never know the taste of love nor mortal fear. The price you paid were the very things that made you human. And in return what were you given? A lifetime of hatred and strife in a body grotesquely remade for a single purpose, to fight and die for the race you are no longer a part of!'

The marine loomed close over him, its voice dropping to a whisper more vehement than any shout, 'he gave me duty and the strength to bear it, and in return took only my weakness, my doubt.'

The warrior straightened again cocking his head to the side, perhaps listening to a closed vox channel. 'But enough of this, make your choice, you try my patience.'

He said, turning to glance at the Thunderhawk as its embarkation ramp began to close.

Bek sighed, 'then I'm afraid I must decline, we have scanned your vessel and know you are but five Astartes. Go back to your captain and tell him I am mobilising the P.D.F. And that committing an invasion force would be costly and unwise.'

As he spoke the Thunderhawk took flight with a roar of thrust.

The champion turned back to him, framed by a cloud of grit kicked up by the drop-ships jet wash and his tone bore the hint of a mirthless smile.

'You are mistaken Heretic Bek, we _are_ the invasion force!'

With a bolt pistols bark the Emperor claimed his due.


End file.
